Tra Pochi giorni

There must be some reason for a camera that is open to the world to focus on this puddle in the middle of the forest. Perhaps in winter it is a cross-country ski track and the tourists want to know the condition of the snow. In recent days, sitting in front of the screen, I have been looking at the dark and irregular patch that stretches between the firs. It may be in North America because if I connect in the mornings I only get a black image with the information of the date and what seems to be the name of a place whose location I have not been able to determine. There, many mornings the puddle is frozen. Not on the entire surface; just on the edges. Despite the poor quality of the image, I can sense the ice lines, like contour lines, withdrawing as the temperature rises. A little later, all is blue. I have not seen anyone pass by. On days with bad weather the camera does not move and the lens does not get wet. It must be installed on some post and they must have it well protected. The water, so dark, attracts the eye in an almost sickly way. It is a water contrary to that which transports Ophelia, so horizontal and so vertical the one I speak of. So as not to fall into temptation, I imagine the bits of which it is made as if they were dyed salt flakes that could be lifted with your fingernail and under which, instead of depth, there was nothing but blank paper.
Miguel Leache Resano